I couldn't sleep.
After the gala, after the performance, after hours of pretending to be in love with Azryth while the line between pretending and reality got increasingly blurry, my brain refused to shut off.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw moments from the evening, his hand on my waist, the way he'd looked at me while dancing, the protective fury when he'd found me cornered by that reporter.
*"You're worth staring at."*
*"You're mine to protect."*
I gave up on sleep around two AM, pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt, and padded out to the kitchen for water.
Azryth was already there.
He was standing by the windows, still in his tuxedo pants and white dress shirt, tie gone, top buttons undone, a glass of something amber in his hand, staring out at the city lights like they held answers.
"Can't sleep either?" I asked.
He turned, and I noticed the same restless energy in him. "No."
"Too much adrenaline from the gala?"
"Something like that." He took a sip of his drink. "Want one?"
"What is it?"
"Whiskey, very old and very expensive, it'll probably be a waste on your uncultured palate."
"Wow. Rude." But I moved closer. "Yeah, I'll take one."
He poured, and handed me a glass, our fingers brushed, the binding flared.
We both noticed but neither of us commented.
I took a sip, it burned in the best way. "That's good whiskey."
"I only keep good whiskey." He moved back to the windows. "You handled tonight well, I meant what I said, you were remarkable."
"So were you." I joined him at the windows, keeping a careful distance. "Very convincing, the perfect doting husband."
Something flickered across his face. "Convincing.. yes, that's what we needed to be."
"It worked, I've already seen the headlines, 'Valek and Mysterious Husband Steal the Show.' 'Billionaire CEO Can't Keep His Eyes Off His New Love.'" I paused. "That last one is from three different publications, apparently you looked at me a lot."
"You looked at me plenty as well."
"I was playing my part."
"As was I." But he said it quietly, uncertain.
We stood in silence, drinking expensive whiskey, staring at the city, both of us dancing around what we actually wanted to say.
"Can I ask you something?" I said finally.
"You can ask, but I may not answer."
Fair. "Tonight, during the dancing, when you said I was worth staring at." I took another sip for courage. "Was that part of the performance?"
He was quiet for a long moment. "What do you want it to have been?"
"That's not an answer."
"No, it's not." He set down his glass, turned to face me fully. "What are you actually asking, Riven?"
Good question, what was I actually asking?
"I'm asking if any of tonight was real," I said. "If any of the concern, the protectiveness, the way you looked at me.. if any of it was genuine, or if it was all just very good acting for the cameras."
"And why does that matter?"
"Because I need to know!" The words came out sharper than intended. "I need to know if what I'm feeling is real or just the binding manipulating me, I need to know if you're feeling it too or if I'm just some inconvenient obligation you're stuck with."
"Riven, what are you feeling?" His voice was dangerous, intense.
"I don't know!" I set down my own glass before I dropped it. "I'm confused, conflicted, I should hate you, you kidnapped me, bound me, forced me into this marriage. I should be planning escapes, not... not..."
"Not what?"
"Not enjoying it when you touch me!" The admission burst out of me. "Not feeling safe when you're close, not liking the way you look at me sometimes like I'm something other than a problem to be managed. I shouldn't want any of that, but I do, and I don't know if it's me or the binding, and it's driving me insane."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Azryth stared at me, his expression unreadable, then he laughed, short, humorless.
"You think you're the only one struggling with this?" He moved closer. "You think I'm not equally confused? Equally conflicted?"
"You hide it well."
"I've had centuries of practice hiding what I feel." He was very close now, close enough that I could feel his warmth. "But the binding makes it harder, every day, every moment we're together."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the physical contact is dangerously pleasant." He said it like a confession. "Your hand in mine, my hand on your waist, dancing with you tonight, all of it felt..." He stopped, jaw tightening.
"Right." The word came out rough. "It felt right, like that's how we were supposed to be. Close, connected and together." His eyes met mine. "And that terrifies me more than anything has in five hundred years."
The honesty in his voice stole my breath.
"Why does it terrify you?"
"Because I don't know if it's really real!" His voice rose slightly before he controlled it. "I don't know if these feelings are genuine or if they're the binding manipulating both of us, pushing us together, creating artificial attachment to ensure mutual survival."
"You said the binding can't create feelings from nothing."
"No. But it can amplify existing ones, make attraction stronger, make everything feel more intense than it should be." He turned away, running a hand through his hair. "And I can't tell anymore what I actually feel versus what the binding is making me feel."
Wow, I'd never seen him like this. Uncertain, vulnerable, the carefully controlled demon lord facade cracking to show someone genuinely struggling.
"What do you actually feel?" I asked quietly. "If you had to guess, if you ignore the binding, what do you feel when you look at me?"
He was silent for a long time, when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.